


He May Not Remember Me, but I Remember Him

by ItsaMePatches



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsaMePatches/pseuds/ItsaMePatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having a rather unsettling and yet realistic dream, Prima feels the need to investigate Teatro Tammaro with Tonio. The reason why is that she may know who they were before they were Vocaloids. Could it be true that Prima was Primrose Bianchi (a popular opera singer and teacher) and Tonio was her dear student (Antonello Bellomi)? It seems likely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teatro Tammaro

**Author's Note:**

> After posting it on Tumblr and ff.net, it's finally time to show off my stories on here! Anyway, this is one of those “before they became Vocaloids” stories, but with Engloids instead of a CMF Vocaloid. :Bc
> 
> I was given this idea after browsing around a Vocaloid headcanon thread, so, thanks to that.

* * *

 

_He May Not Remember Me, but..._

* * *

 

 

    Her fingers brushed the cup’s handle whilst her eyes glanced over at the person across from her at the table. A small smile graced her at how he finally noticed her stare, blushing a little.  
  
    "What…? Is there something on my face?“  
    "No no, there’s nothing on you. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Tonio.”

    Tonio huffed quietly and sat back against his seat. Prima had suggested that the two of them took a break away from the life of being a Vocaloid or – what Tonio thought – being a Vocaloid which no one gave the time or day for in the damn first place because they sung genres that wasn’t popular at all.  
  
    …or so Tonio thought until that “The End” performance with Miku, but he was told to hold his tongue about what he thought about _that_.  
  
    Anyway, back on track, Prima suggested the two of them didn’t see much of each other at home also, so this was perfect for them to being at each other’s side like the good ol’ days. How Prima was able to accomplish this trip without anyone else coming along was beyond him. So many of the Vocaloids could be incredibly nosy, after all…  
  
    "Tonio,“ Prima spoke up, "did you wish for me to order a few more drinks for us?”  
  
    The younger of the two shook his head. “No thank you.”  
  
    So, instead of being coped within the two-story house, he and Prima were in the “tourist attraction” part of Italy. Prima, when she was telling him the details of their trip on the plane ride here, was rather specific on what she thought about doing once they deported the airport via public transportation. Was this actually Prima wanting a vacation for personal reasons? No, possibly not, considering she brought him along.  
  
    Then again…the two of them _were_ close for years. She _wanted_ him to come with her. Prima was more than happy to bring him into anything deemed “personal” by moral standards. Who _knows_ the true reason why the woman across from him wanted to come here? Well, certainly not him…probably.  
  
    As if she had read his scattered thoughts, Prima took a sip of her coffee, then told him calmly with a smile still plastered, “I thought about looking for our ‘roots’, music-wise. It’s all in good fun, dear.”  
  
    "It sounds anything but 'fun’, dear.“  
    "To you, perhaps; but, not to me.”  
    "How so?“  
  
    Prima held in a laugh as her brows scrunched for a second, but then they retained back to their usual position. Might as well admit to the truth. This was Tonio, after all. He wasn’t going to judge her. "Well, as silly as this may sound to you and everyone else…” she replied truthfully, “I confess that I wanted to come here based off a dream I had last week…” then she added in before taking another sip of coffee, “concerning about our past.”  
  
    "Pardon?“ Tonio raised a brow.  
  
    "Our past together, prior to becoming Vocaloids.”  
    "And you’re listening to what a dream showed you by coming here? Is that it?“  
  
    "Yes.”  
  
    Prima was intelligent, why on earth would she fall so easily for whatever a dream presented to her? Tonio was starting to get confused by this.  
  
    "I know I know…“ Prima immediately defended herself and remaining rather calm in her body language, "that’s why I said it was silly, but I swear that this wasn’t an ordinary dream by all means.”  
  
    "Could you explain to me what you mean by 'our past’ then?“ Tonio questioned.  
  
    "Certainly.” She nodded. “Do you know how, for example, Miku has a past story of her own? She was sent from a timeline where music was dying and sent back to prevent it from happening, yes?”  
  
    Another nod.  
  
    Once she saw the nod, Prima continued, “I don’t know why, but the dream was descriptive with everything…as if I was watching a movie. We were here, in Italy, many years ago. This was probably where we lived until…” her voice trailed off for a moment, trying to think of what to say at the end of her sentence, “well…that is to say, I never found out what happened to us at the very end.”  
  
    Tonio frowned a little as he raised an eyebrow at her. A hint of doubt was written on his face, Prima could easily tell.  
  
    "Tonio, I swear that I’m not making things up. What can I do to wipe away that doubt?“  
  
    ”…proof, perhaps,“ was the younger opera singer’s reply. "Tell me everything that happened, or show me at least.”  
  
    The smile on Prima widened. “Of course. I’ll do both of those, though we’re going to have to leave and head to where we need to be.”  
  
    "Really?“  
  
    "Yes, in hopes of a memory trigger to occur. Miku claims she gets those sometimes and instantly remembers more and more information concerning her own past, so I believe the same will happen if I visit the site.”  
  
    That’s an interesting point.  
  
    "Alright,“ he gave in to her.  
  
    After the duo finished their morning drink, Prima stood from her seat and held out a hand to her partner, offering it to him as she smiled. Tonio, without hesitation, took hold and stood; although he couldn’t help but still doubt Prima going along with a dream’s tale.  
  
    "Tonio, I hope you don’t mind us taking a mean of transportation to get to where we need to be.”  
    "Why would I mind?“  
  
    "Just making sure,” Prima replied.

 

* * *

 

_Roots of Italia_

* * *

 

 

    One train ride later, the two of them wound up in front of a beauty of an opera house. There didn’t seem to be that many people visiting the lovely building, possibly due to it being so early in the morning still.  
  
    But, who cares about that? Why not care more for the opera house in front of them?  
  
    There was a flight of stone steps which led to the double-door entrance. The door’s handles where shiny and gold whilst the door themselves were wooden or possibly oak. The house stood three stories tall and took almost two blocks of space for itself. Now while it didn’t seem it was _that_ old, the opera house appeared to be at least twenty or so years old due to the hints of how worn the edges of the place seemed.  
  
    "Tell me, Tonio,“ asked Prima, "does this place seem familiar to you somehow?”  
  
    The dark-haired man shook his head. “No, not really.” He glanced over at her as he adjusted his jacket. “Do you?”  
  
    "After the dream I had…this place is very familiar to me.“  
    "Prima, I’m still questioning about that dream of yours–”  
  
    "Teatro Tammaro is its name,“ she swiftly interrupted Tonio, her lovely smile never leaving her face as she said that. "Please listen, when I saw the picture of it at home, I felt as though I knew this place before…and I’m getting an overwhelming array of emotions right now, just because we’re standing in front of it.”  
  
    She went on.  
  
    "Perhaps you’ll be triggered by something once we enter?“  
    "Perhaps…”  
  
    "I promise that you will,“ she assured him, and then she grasped his hand gently once again. "Besides, you agreed to my request to visit here. We might as well take a look inside, regardless if what I had was a simple dream about this or not.”

 

* * *

  
_Welcome to Teatro Tammaro_

* * *

 

  
    "Where on earth is everyone?“  
    "Hm…they must be on a group tour right now.”  
  
    "Are we going to take a tour?“ Tonio questioned with a brow raised.  
  
    After glancing around from their stance in the middle of the lobby, Prima answered, "Our own, yes. I _did_ think about booking us on one of the group tours; however, I thought you wouldn’t be that into being in a large group like that.”  
  
    Tonio’s eyes looked from place to place within the quiet lobby. There were newspaper clippings, paintings, and framed photographs decorating the deep red walls perfectly. To the far left, there was a flight of steps which took one to the next floor and onwards, beside those stairs were the toilet rooms. The temperature of the room was comfortably warm. He turned to where Prima stood, but paused from what he was about to say due to Prima slowly approaching a wall which displayed a few photographs and old newspaper articles.  
  
    Prima, as soon as she was close enough to view the pictures, silently gazed from image to image. Her heart’s beats remained steady, but it soon sped up upon the sight of a particular framed photograph. “Tonio,” she called for him, her green eyes remaining on the item in front of her.  
  
    Tonio soon joined her, then he looked at what the woman was staring at and the sight dawned onto him.  
  
    Within the photograph, there stood a group of fifteen teenagers and a woman in her mid-twenties or early thirties standing in the middle. She beamed a bright smile without being distracted by the loose strains of dark hair covering sections of her right eye. Her hair, speaking of, was on the wavy side with a few parts sticking upwards into curls.  
  
    "She certainly looks like you,“ Tonio commented once he found his voice.

    He could feel Prima’s eyes on him.  
  
    "Dear, read what’s underneath the picture.”  
  
    Under the photo, just as Prima said there was one, was a golden plaque which read:

>      **Teatro Tammaro - Operatic Class of 2000**  
>      _Our dear leading lady – Primrose Bianchi – with her students mid-semester._

    Taking another glance at the woman, Primrose, in the photograph, Tonio felt his jaw harden and his mouth straighten into a line. Her physical attributes matched Prima, minus the wavy, shoulder-length hair. The smile was similar as well. This woman…she couldn’t honestly be Prima, could she?  
  
    "Tonio, I’m getting that feeling which Miku had when she found out about herself,“ she mumbled to him. "If you don’t believe me…could you examine the photograph closely?”  
  
    Tonio did just that. His squinted his brown eyes at the photo and stared at Primrose’s features harder. The face, the eyes, her body, that charming smile…they were hers?  
  
    No, they didn’t have a past life at all. They were made by a company and were activated upon their software’s release. They didn’t have a previous life like Miku, Kiyoteru, Yuki, or Miki had, they _didn’t_!

    He let his eyes wander away from Primrose, but things became worse when one of the students captured his attention. To the left of Primrose – who had a hand over his shoulder – was a young man in a tuxedo. By his facial expression of avoiding the camera and his cheeks a deeper shade than his skin colour, he was either embarrassed or shy. One of his gloved hands grasped the hem of the cloak he wore and the other hand was absent-mindlessly at his ruffled dark hair. Minus any facial hair, he looked like–  
  
    "I’ll be right back,“ Tonio calmly told Prima, but when he was about to head off into the toilet without another word, Prima grabbed his coat by its arm.  
  
    "Tonio, dear, are you alright…?” she worriedly asked. When he didn’t say anything, Prima looked back at the photograph. It only took her a second to realise who the boy beside Primrose looked similar to. A hand went to her mouth as she murmured, “Oh, _mio_ …”  
  
    What Tonio wasn’t aware was how images were flashing through Prima’s mind for a split second. What were those memories? Why, the same ones she remembered in her detailed dream!  
  
    She decided to ask the young man beside her as a way for him to possibly 'remember’, “Doesn’t this boy to the left of Primrose look familiar also?”  
  
    "…no.“  
    "Tonio, are you sure?”  
    "I’m certain, Prima.“  
  
    He was spun around to face Prima whose smile lessened and her brows lowered. She was going to tell him otherwise about who the boy with Primrose was, and he refused to believe that this was _him_. This couldn’t be happening. He starting to feel alright with Primrose being Prima, but–  
  
    "Tonio…”  
  
    Tonio averted her stare. “May we…look around here?”  
  
    Maybe a tour around the place could help trigger a memory if this photo could not! Perfect! Prima nodded, and then said, “We can. Perhaps we can sneak around without the guides knowing we’re here?”  
  
    "What?“  
    "I’m kidding, dear.”  
  
    She looked over to one of the entryways which allowed people into the performance hall and spotted an old metal rack hanging from the wall with pamphlets and other papers for tourists and visitors alike to take with them. Her smile returned.  
  
    "Come, Tonio,“ she spoke to him as she tugged Tonio along to where the papers were, "let’s start our trip with some assistance. Maybe you’ll realise soon enough.”  
  
    As they passed through the doors, Prima was quick enough to grab a pamphlet and a paper booklet. She had a feeling she was going to put them to good use.

 

* * *

 

_..._

* * *

 

 

    The downstage, this was where Prima and Tonio found themselves upon entering. Surprisingly, they never ran into any people who were in the tour group, neither did they run into any people running the opera house. Unusual.  
  
    Tonio, trying to shove the image of himself – ? – to the back of his thoughts, ran a hand over one of the seats, feeling the soft cushion underneath his fingertips.  
  
    Prima, meanwhile, flipped open the opera house’s pamphlet and began to read out loud, “Teatro Tammaro was founded in the late eighteen-hundreds as a small performance hall for young adults. Gradually, the founder of the establishment received enough funds to expand and re-create Tammaro as a whole.  
  
    Tamarro not only became an opera house for professional singers by the 1920s, but they also had a school on the side as means to raise singers to call their own. Many 'graduated’ into the world of opera, one of those students even paid back for how much they had helped her receive attention: Primrose Bianchi, a woman who was once a mere soprano in their school who became a household name in the world of opera within Italy…”  
  
    She might have caught Tonio stiffen once she mentioned the woman’s name, but she didn’t paid much mind to it once he went back to wandering around the floors, looking up at the boxes above and around them.  
  
    Prima read on to herself, taking in the rest of the general information of the house. She chose to re-read the item, this time she caught something within parenthesis which she seemed to have missed upon the first run-through.

> **Primrose Bianchi (1972 - 2001)**

  
    Wait, she didn’t remember _that part_ of the dream she had.  
  
    "It seems…“ she murmured, "I might have died at one point.”  
  
    Tonio turned to look at her. “What?”  
    "Primrose died thirteen years ago.“  
    ”…“  
  
    "I’m guessing you’re either getting confused or…” Prima said, “you’re in doubt, still. Doesn’t anything feel or look akin so far?”  
  
    Tonio quickly shot his eyes to the entrance where those photos were displayed, but then he looked back to Prima. “No, but…” he questioned, “if what you’re assuming is true, just by mere coincidence of the photograph and dream, could you tell me exactly what happened while showing me around this place?”  
  
    "Gladly,“ she immediately responded. She still had hope that, perhaps, Tonio would finally accept what was their possible past life. She, herself, didn’t know that Primrose had died; so there must have been more to the story than what her vision presented to her in the dead of night.  
  
    Taking hold of his hand yet again, Prima led him further up the floor. There sat a door to the left which Prima – that was surprisingly unlocked – opened it, and then the two slipped inside. With a turn to the right, they were now standing in the centre of the stage.  
  
    "Once in a while,” Prima said, “I saw myself performing in front of hundreds, possibly thousands considering how large the house is. Like the pamphlet said, Primrose was a student, became famous, and became a teacher at the opera house…”  
  
    She took in the sight of her spot on the stage, her eyes glanced about the downstage – the audience’s sitting area – then up at the boxes. She felt a tingling sensation in her chest which soon was joined by a similar feeling within her stomach. A smile grew across Prima’s face.  
  
    "Before classes began,“ continued the female Vocaloid, "I – or Primrose – would warm my vocals out here. That’s how my dream started out…” Prima glanced around again, but this time she felt something coming to her mind. “And my students would come in and watched me whenever they arrived early.”  
  
    A shot of four or five teenagers sitting in the middle of the empty audience floor flashed in Prima’s vision, the sight of one of the teens caused her smile to melt and her eyes soften.  
  
    "One of them – I’ve noticed in my dream – showed up early _every day_ to watch me.“  
  
    "Prima,” Tonio spoke up with a scrunched brow, “you’ve better not say what I’m thinking you’re going to say.”  
  
    "Antonello Bellomi was his name,“ and Prima made sure she was looking directly at Tonio when she said the name which made the younger of the two groan.  
  
    "Prima, please…”  
    "Let me continue, dear~…“  
  
    Ignoring the hand brushing against his cheek for a moment, Tonio frowned in annoyance and gave in, replying, ”…alright, fine.“  
  
    "Thank you. Anyway…” Prima gazed back to the empty seats as she finally began her story, “my dream started with me arriving to the opera house while the sun was still rising, I removed my coat and entered the hall. Once I got on the stage – this one – I began to warm my voice for the day…”  
  


* * *

 

**to be continued**


	2. Primrose Bianchi and Antonello Bellomi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having an oddly detailed dream about a possible past life, Prima decides to investigate an opera house in Italy with Tonio (who is understandably skeptical) at her side. What the two find out is that Prima’s dream was actually a memory of her life as an opera singer and teacher named Primrose Bianchi, who also happens to be friends with a teenage boy who goes by the name of Antonello Bellomi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody still reading this story, congrats and thank you for continuing on. I'm not sure how you guys will like the end and this chapter, so I hope you'll maybe like aspects of it at least. By the way, the final chapter is rather long, so be prepared!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

* * *

 

 

_Teatro Tammaro / the early hours of a new day_

 

* * *

 

 

  
    One of the sets of double-doors suddenly opened. The figure slowly removed her heavy-set coat as she trekked across the floor, a sense of elegance in the air around her. There were a handful of workers and fellow singers who greeted the woman while she passed them.  
  
    "Why, Miss Primrose! You look lovely as usual this morning!“  
    "Thank you, madam. You look stunning also…”  
  
    "Are you ready to deal with those brats again, Miss Primrose?“ asked one of the head owners of the school with a grin on his aging face.  
  
    "Now now, not all of them are like that at all!” Primrose responded, waving away the “brat” comment. “Sure, some of them may come off as selfish or immature _now_ , but that doesn’t mean they won’t mature over time…” she grabbed the knobs of another set of doors, ones which led to the performance hall, and added, “I’m certain of it.”  
  
    Primrose let herself in.  
  
    After passing the many seats of the establishment, the woman – who was far past her twenties – made her way up the five steps and to the centre of the stage. Gently, she let the jacket down onto the spot beside her right foot. She was alright with getting it a bit dirty, though it didn’t seem to fit etiquette to do such a thing in the first place.  
  
    Well, time to warm up. Perhaps something soothing and emotional…  
  
    Ah yes, “ _Con te Partirὸ_ ”.

    Primrose took a breath and began to sing gently. If one was to describe the innocence of her voice while she sang through the first verse, they would say it made their heart aflutter or stir a wee chill to go down the spine. Such a beautiful voice which Primrose had the honour of possessing! A few kids – in their teens – slowly came into the room and took a seat as she continued on. At the end of the verse, another student came into the room while he removed his short cloak’s hood. He carefully slid through a few seats and sat in a middle chair, hoping it didn’t creak.

    She prepared herself before she struck a specifically higher section of the chorus. My, such elegance! Not a crack was to be heard from the opera singer, for she was capable of conquering it with the absolute of ease. Primrose stopped herself before she could start singing the second half of the song. Her eyes had focused above, the ceiling to be precise, so she set them back in place to see some of her students – two girls and three boys – sitting while they clapped for her. A smile made its way to Primrose. “Aww, _grazie_ …” she thanked them, holding in a laugh. “Also, good morning to all of you!”

    Today was like any other day for Primrose, her students, and Teatro Tammaro.  
  
    "I’ll meet you in the usual studio room while we wait for everyone else, okay? I just need to grab my things,“ she told the group.  
  
    Whilst watching the students slowly heading off to the flight of stairs outside the performance hall, her eyes focused on the young man in the short cloak. "Oh, and,” she called out, “Mister Antonello! Your hair looks rather nice long like that~…”  
  
    The student she specifically called turned to look at her, repressing the embarrassed blush creeping onto his cheeks. “It isn’t long at all, _Madam Bianchi_.”  
  
    "The ends are past your shoulders, dear. They’re considered ‘long’ or at least 'shoulder-length’ by most standards,“ she replied. Primrose knelt down to pick up her jacket, then she removed herself from the stage. Not surprisingly, Antonello stood at the entrance, waiting for her again. "By the way, you look a bit sleepy. If you want to, I can see if we can get some coffee delivered to the room during our lunch.”  
  
    "No thank you.“  
    "Hm, well…I’ll order some anyway. For the whole class.”  
  
    Antonello Bellomi was one of Primrose’s favourite students. He would blush at compliments, and his attitude reflected more like a cat that liked affection but pretended not to show it. He could be serious during class sessions though not over-the-top. Although he was around seventeen years of age, Antonello could pass as fifteen with his wide innocent eyes and his still-round jawline. Perhaps he was simply a late-bloomer in the physical department since his voice had already reached its maturity.  
  
    "I’m guessing you wish to escort me to our room again,“ Primrose said with a smile. "Thank you.”  
  
    "I was just waiting for you. It’s not like I’m making sure you get to the room as soon as possible…“  
  
    "Mm-hm, I see.”  
  
    Side by side, the young teacher and her student left the room with conversation on mostly Primrose’s part.  
  
    "So, how was your weekend, Antonello?“ she asked.  
    "Usual,” he replied.  
  
    "I don’t think I’ve ever asked you this, but…how do you like the class so far? It’ll be two months today that you’ve been my student.“  
  
    "You’re asking me for feedback?”  
  
    She nodded, beaming a smile to him as they began their trip up the flight of stairs. “Of course! I’ve asked the other students on Friday, but you left early because you weren’t feeling well.”  
  
    Primrose saw Antonello’s eyes glance away from her for a moment, then he answered her question, “I like it.”  
  
    "I’m glad to hear that!“ Her smile widened upon hearing the response. "You know, I think you have such a lovely voice when you sing. So mature, so deep, and rather…”  
  
    "Rather what?“ the teenager raised a brow at her.  
  
    "Well…handsome!”  
  
    As expected, Antonello’s face turned redder than a tomato at the word. As she giggled out an “aww”, she placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.  
  
    "You know, Antonello…I’ve thought of a song you would sound grand with over the weekend.“  
  
    ” _Seriously_ , Madam Bianchi?“  
  
    "Oh come on, you’ll enjoy it, I swear! It isn’t as though I’m only doing this to you, by the way,” she explained herself to him as they finally reached the door to their studio, a room placed right beside the stairs which then stretched further down the hall, “the owners of the school thought I should hold a little performance with my students in March to show them how they’ve been doing. Once it was decided, I’ve been choosing songs I think will fit for each of you!”  
  
    Antonello frowned, although Primrose didn’t take notice of it since she went on ahead inside. He didn’t fully understand why Primrose liked him so much, neither could he see how she thought those things about him.  
  
    "Oh, everyone else arrived already? Funny, I didn’t see you guys unless you took another route or went straight up here once you came inside the building…“  
  
    Antonello Bellomi, the only child of a small Italian family. He lived less than ten minutes away from Tammaro and was usually dropped off by his mother. It was his parents who thought he would be a great opera singer one day, and they were the ones who enrolled him two months ago. His confidence level was a bit below average, so his parents hoped this class could assist it…especially with such a bright, helpful teacher such as Madam Primrose Bianchi. No no, she didn’t say that every thing the students did was good, but she did not belittle them like other teachers in the arts were notorious for sometimes.  
  
    His time under Primrose’s wings have been rather nice, although he was embarrassed to admit it. Time and time again, she praised his voice, calling him a "natural”. Was he really? A few of the other people who worked here and fellow classmates agreed with Primrose’s words, so perhaps she was right…  
  
    "Antonello,“ Primrose’s voice called from within the room, "come on, it’s time for class!”  
  
    "Coming,“ he immediately replied, then he went in and shut the door behind him. For the next following hour or two, Primrose talking once in a while and singing from the students could be heard. Just another day at Teatro Tammaro.

 

* * *

  
  
_..._

 

* * *

 

 

  
    "Odd, there’s no one inside of here…” Prima commented after – rather impolitely of her – opening a door located on the second floor. She stepped into the empty room, her feet making a small echo with every step. “Maybe there aren’t any classes being held today…”  
  
    Tonio huffed with a hint of annoyance…then again, most of the things he _has_ done were out of annoyance. This was silly, but he was willing to give Prima as many chances as possible to convince him that she was Primrose and he was Antonello at one point in their life. “Prima…”  
  
    "Look around until you see something that strikes your fancy for now, dear.“  
    ”…“  
  
    Prima still had that odd sensation running through her body and mind. The dream she had continued to play on while her eyes scanned the room.  
  


 

* * *

 

_..._

* * *

 

 

    "Bye, Madam Primrose!”  
    "See you tomorrow, Miss Emily, my wonderful little soprano!“  
  
    Antonello threw on his cloak while Primrose waved to a short tanned girl with French braids as she ran off. It was now the end of the day. Most of the students left as soon as possible, but Antonello had to wait until his mother was off work to pick him up…he was alright with that.  
  
    …not…like he would tell Primrose this either.  
  
    "Waiting for your mom again?” she turned to ask Antonello.  
  
    He responded, “Yeah.”  
  
    "How about the two of us relax in the lobby with some drinks? Would you like to do that instead of staying up here?“  
  
    Glancing only once to the small window where he usually watched for his ride to appear, Antonello nodded. "Sure…I guess.”  
  
    Moments later, Antonello took a seat on a bench located within the lobby of the building.  
  
    "Let’s see…I could grab some hot chocolate, coffee, a carbonated drink, wine…or,“ Primrose offered, "I could make a martini. The kitchen’s open, so I can get the ingredients.”  
  
    A martini? That was his mom’s favourite drink, but he never really bothered to try one for himself and due to the fact he wasn’t sure his parents didn’t want him drinking anything alcoholic for whatever reason.  
  
    "A…martini.“  
    "Alright! I’ll be right back, hopefully I won’t take long…”  
  
    Primrose sat her three books and jacket beside the teenager, and then she scampered off to retrieve the drinks. This was perfect time to bond with a student of hers, especially with this one. She wouldn’t really call him a “loner” or a person who hates socialising, but he _did_ seem to be by himself for a majority of the time. While she spoke to him, she took notice of how he stammered or avoided eye contact whenever she talked about him. Was he suffering from a crush? No, it didn’t appear to be something like that…  
  
    "Oh!“ she thought out loud, now in the kitchen as she poured Antontello’s drink into a plastic cup. "He’s shy! That has to be it!”  
  
    Meanwhile, Antonello picked up one of Primrose’s books to see what it was. Of course, a collection of classic opera songs. He recognised most of the songs since his teacher was so eager to introduce them to the class. Ah, there was the one Primrose sung as her “warm-up song” today.  
  
    Antonello’s fingers traced the page where that specific song displayed itself. A soothing song with interesting lyrics. He licked his lips which had dried over time. His eyes glanced back and forth to see if there were any other people around. During this time of the day – four in the evening – only a handful of people remained at the house. Besides the early morning, five in the evening and onwards was when people pooled here for performances. The people who _were_ present now could’ve been elsewhere.  
  
    His index finger went to a few lines of the song, and, slowly, he sung under his breath. Antonello sounded with a gentle tone -- though not similar to Primrose's own -- tinted with vulnerability. The young man felt himself becoming absorbed with the words, the meaning behind them, and his mind soon imagined an orchestra accompany him. Invisible hands grabbed Antonello and pulled him into the song until he was lost. In regards to that _one_ high note inside the chorus, the tenor was definitely able to handle a feat head-on.

    Prima had taken a sip of her wine as she exited the small kitchen down the right hall when she almost choked on the drink due to hearing Antonello suddenly singing “Con te Partirὸ”. She stopped walking and listened on. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful…  
  
    She smiled, then took a sip of the wine in her left hand.  
  
    She _knew_ Antonello was a natural, she could feel it…and this was further proof. She noticed how he would roll his 'r’s once in a while during the bit of the song; but that was not a problem at all, for Primrose believed that was a part of his personality whenever he sung. This fact wasn’t only for the time being – goodness, no! – but for the other times he needed to sing during classes within these two months. She had faith that he would go far. Perhaps they could be partners someday…  
  
    Antonello stopped after singing the first chorus, that was when Primrose came back with their drinks and he sat up straight then placed the book back on the pile.  
  
    "I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Mister Antontello,“ she said to him, handing him his martini.  
  
    As Primrose sat down on the other side of the books and jacket, Antonello sniffed the drink. He held the brim to his lips, probably coming off as hesitant, then he finally took two sips. Bitter, it was…but it still tasted nice to him.  
  
    "By the way,” Primrose held in a laugh, telling the boy, “you sounded _very nice_ singing while I was getting our drinks!”  
  
    And down went the rest of the drink as Antonello tilted his head back to hide the embarrassment of being heard by Primrose. What a nosy teacher…  
  
    Soon enough, a familiar white car pulled up to the front of the opera house. As Primrose watched Antonello get into the back seat from the entrance, she waved, bidding him farewell. Primrose gazed down to her drink she had yet to finish, then to her diamond watch on her right wrist. She had enough time to drink this without worrying about feeling tipsy while performing tonight. She downed the wine in a rather “unladylike manner” and went back inside.

 

* * *

  
  
_..._

 

* * *

 

 

  
    Another day of class soon came and went the blink of an eye. Other days like that continued onwards until another month was here.  
  
    "Madam Bianchi– or rather…Madam Primrose?“  
  
    After waving a student adieu, Primrose turned to look at Antonello, somewhat surprised that he approached her. "Yes?”  
  
    "Could I ask you something?“  
    "Of course you can! What is it?”  
  
    Antontello adjusted his cloak, and then questioned, “Is opera considered a dead musical genre?”  
  
    She frowned and scrunched a brow. “What?”  
  
    He averted her gaze as he tried explaining to her, “I’ve been told that focusing on a musical genre that leaves 'little to no impact’ nowadays is pointless and a waste of time. So, what do you think…?”  
  
    Primrose mentally cringed at that. How dare they insult opera!? And how dare they tell Antonello such a thing to begin with! “Well…” she started, “I don’t think that’s true at all. Opera has been around for quite some time, and it _has_ been influential, though not as much as it once was.”  
  
    She carefully reached out and ruffled the teen’s hair, smiling at him as she did so.  
  
    "I was told that a few times, too…but, opera is practically my life! I love the music, the drama, the whole works! There has been others who were told the same thing, possibly…and they ignored those words because they wanted to enjoy opera for themselves! Whether it was by participating or supporting it any other way,“ she said. Smiling gently, Primrose asked, "Do you like opera? You don’t necessarily have to love it a lot like me, just to let you know~…”  
  
    Attempting to ignore the smile his teacher gave him and the blush creeping to his cheeks, Antonello slowly responded, “I…do, actually. It’s one of the only things I can enjoy.”  
  
    "Well, if it’s something you love…you should do it. I believe in you! I’m fairly certain that your mom and dad feel the same way also, right?“  
  
    "They do, yeah…”  
    "Try not to worry about it, okay?“  
    ”…I’ll…erm, try not to.“  
  
    "Good!” Primrose pat his shoulder. “Any other questions, dear?”  
  
    He shook his head as the blush faded.  
  
    "Alright. How about we go downstairs if you’re waiting for you ride? We can have a drink together as usual!“  
    "Okay.”  
  
    Together, they left the room and down the flight of stairs to their “hang-out” in the lobby. Once she grabbed their drinks and joined Antonello on the bench, she told him to dress his best tomorrow since tomorrow was “Class Photo Day” which Antonello immediately frowned from being told that. He wasn’t a fan at getting his picture taken and never had been. Instead of being rude and saying there was no way he was going to participate, Antonello simply drunk his martini in silence.  
  
    "You know, Antonello…?“ Primrose spoke up, "I think that was the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.” She broke into a bright smile, now asking, “Does that mean you’re starting to warm up to me?”  
  
    ’ _I **have been** warming up to you_ ,’ he thought, but instead said out loud, “Yeah, I guess it does.”  
  
    "I’m glad to hear that! If you want to, you can drop the 'madam’ title too.“  
  
    "I’ll…keep that in mind.”  
  
    The following day arrived smoothly.  
  
    The picture was to be taken in the studio room, against one of the soft yellow-coloured walls. Standing within the group of her fifteen students, Primrose made certain she was on the left of Antonello, who was busy glancing away while he kept a hand on the hem of his cloak. He felt embarrassed, especially with his teacher’s hand on his shoulder.  
  
    "Aw, you don’t have to look like that, dear…“ she whispered playfully to him seconds before the flash of the camera nearly blinded everyone.  
  
    Days later, the lobby’s photo wall was graced with the perfect photograph of Madam Primrose Bianchi and her students who would soon become rising stars.  
  
    Unfortunately, that would not come to be.

 

* * *

  
  
**To be concluded.**


	3. Con te Partirò

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will leave with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of one of my favourite Vocaloid stories! This part is a lot longer than the previous two.
> 
> If you're still following this story, I'd like to thank you for making it this far. I'm very aware that the structure isn't professional-like, but I'm also aware that I've gotten a whole lot better over the years; plus, this story is something I've been wanting to do for a long time.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!

* * *

 

 

_Will you ever remember?_

 

* * *

 

 

    ’ _My dream seemed so happy about everything_ ,’ Prima admitted within her thoughts, ‘but it never gave me any closure about how and why Primrose died…’  
  
    Prima continued seeing flashbacks of her dream come to life, but there was also a mixture of things she didn’t remember. Prima’s dreams showed her the life of Primrose Bianchi, the student who then turned into a local opera singer and teacher on the side to fifteen teenagers. She remembered how she adored one of her younger students, Antonello Bellomi, who was without a doubt the man beside her in the lobby.  
  
    Speaking of Tonio, he went over to the wall of photographs while Prima excused herself to use the toilet. His brown eyes fixated onto Primrose’s class photo.  
  
    _“You look so bashful! Do you hate getting pictures taken of you?”_  
  
    A frown came across his face when he heard Prima’s voice in his head…  
  
    …or was that Primrose saying that?  
  
    _“Sort of.”_  
  
    " _Merda_ …“ he grumbled to himself at his voice replying to Prima or Primrose.  
  
    Tonio looked to Antonello. Very slowly, he lifted a hand to his own hair then down to his shoulder where Antonello’s hair would reach. It slipped behind his neck and his eyes soon glanced away from the photo of the boy in front of him.  
  
    Antonello Bellomi, one of the only tenors in his class. Personality-wise, his confidence was there, though it was less than the average person’s for whatever reason. His parents believed he was a perfectionist, a personality trait that was a mixed bag. Antonello – or as his mama would call him "Anton” – had a liking for opera with the thanks of his parents being avid listeners of the genre and the fact in which he felt at peace with it.  
  
    When he was enrolled into this program and was introduced to Primrose, Antonello seemed to enjoy being out of his house more – he would then become accustomed to being around Primrose as a friend instead of mere teacher or someone worth looking up to. She lifted his spirits, wiped away any worries he might have had about pursuing a life in the world of opera. She gave him pointers whenever he needed them, and he made sure he followed those suggestions.  
  
    Though, there were times even when Primrose’s words or motives made Antonello feel better.  
  
    You see, Antonello had this odd way of thinking:  
  
    "If it’s not a hundred percent, then it’s a failure along with you".  
  
    Those words eventually started eating him inside the further into the school year and he couldn’t understand why. Was it because he paid so much attention to how wonderful and flawless Primrose was whenever she sung that he tried to get to the same level she was on? This was Antonello’s perfectionist side showing.  
  
    "I need a drink,“ Tonio said to himself, crossing his arms. He wished this place had a concession stand or some sort of place where they sold anything alcoholic, but it didn’t seem like there was one available.  
  
    And that attitude remained with him, even as a Vocaloid known as "Tonio”.

 

* * *

 

 

Antonello Bellomi

 

* * *

 

 

    "Anton!“ his mother’s youthful voice was the first thing Antonello heard. "It’s time to get up for class!”  
  
    It was now the beginning of March, seven months since he was taken under Primrose’s wing within the opera world. For the most part, Antonello was still glad to be attending this class, but recently he has been feeling ill about it. He didn’t feel like he could be as good as his parents and Primrose thought he could become. This could be a phase he was going through due to a spring performance which his class had to do in a week, or because this was how he got once in a while.  
  
    "Don’t worry,“ his father assured him one day with a warm smile, "you’ll do great. You were blessed with a voice that a lot of people in the opera business wished they had.”  
  
    "We believe in you,“ his mother added.  
  
    Antonello pulled his hair back as he used a grey ribbon to tie it loosely once he went inside the Teatro Tammaro for another day of Primrose’s class; but, he paused halfway in the lobby. His eyes drifted to the right, over to the hall which led to the kitchen. On most days, no one went in there until the evening performances or meetings that the owners have.  
  
    A thought came to Antonello; an unwise one but one which could possibly help him.  
  
    Over the months, Antonello not only shared a drink with Primrose after class whilst waiting for his ride but he also drank at home whenever his parents were out. It was something which calmed him down after feeling stressed, tired, or something else. He looked up on how to make a martini, so he was successful upon making one with accuracy every time.  
  
    He has been doing this once January rolled in, having a glass of the bitter drink almost every day without getting caught at home.  
  
    As he shook the ingredients together in the shaker, Antonello’s ears perked from Primrose’s beautiful voice resounding throughout the opera house. Of course, a song from "Carmen”…  
  
    Antonello poured the drink into a plastic cup and then downed it, feeling a warm sense of pleasure in his stomach once it made its way there. Antonello exited the kitchen, then headed to the performance hall’s entrance. The young man licked his lips for one last taste of the drink and entered.  
  
    This would soon become a routine before he entered the hall to watch Primrose warm-up from then on, even increasing the amount from one to two and then three if he was bold enough not to appear as though he was drunk or a bit flushed in the face.

 

* * *

 

 

    "Una furtiva lagrima.“  
    "Excuse me?”  
  
    "That’s the name of the song I’ve thought you should perform for the concert this month,“ Primrose explained to him, beaming a smile at his direction. "It’s one of the perfect songs for a tennor – such as yourself – to do! What do you think?”  
  
    It was the last hour of class for the week when Primrose began talking one-on-one with her students, giving them ideas for what to sing on the day of their “concert”. She had chosen Antonello last since she knew she would talk to him a while longer than the other students who approached their choices with open arms. She had noticed Antonello becoming reluctant recently, so she decided she could give him words of encouragement from one opera singer to another.  
  
    "I’ve never heard of that song before,“ he replied instantly.  
  
    "You haven’t? Well, I can show you a clip of it later after class.”  
    "…“  
  
    Primrose saw Antonello’s eyes glance from her and over at the wall to his left. She frowned worriedly. "Antonello,” she asked, “are you getting worried about something?”  
  
    "No.“ He looked back at the teacher. "Not really, no, but…” Antonello let his voice trail off, feeling unable to tell her what was going through his mind. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like Primrose’s suggestion, nor did he not want to perform – in fact, he felt anxious but excited – but rather…rather it was those naggy thoughts about being unable to do it at all.  
  
    Primrose sighed through her nose. Carefully, the woman cupped a hand to Antonello’s cheek who seemed unfazed by the touch. “Don’t worry, you’ll be so _splendid_ singing!” She paused. She was suddenly struck by an idea. “You know,” she whispered to him as she grinned, “if you’re nervous, the two of us could do a duet~…”  
  
    "I don’t like the way you said 'duet’,“ Antonello told her with a heavy blush coming to his face.  
  
    "Oh you…”  
    "Anyway, I think I’ll do that song you were talking about.“  
  
    "You will?” Primrose brightened up upon what Antonello said.  
  
    He hesitated for a moment, but then he finally answered, “Yeah.”  
  
    "Great! Thank you, Antonello. I promise to help you out as much as I can. You’re a student and dear friend of mine, after all!“  
  
    Although feeling doubtful, Antonello smiled at her.

 

* * *

 

 

    Antonello studied the notes Primrose gave to him of his song as he relaxed on his bed with a martini in hand. In the background, "Una Furtiva Lagrima” played on his desktop computer’s speakers as inspiration. The gentleman’s voice was a Godsend indeed, one which warmed his body with an unexplained sensation. He felt this way whenever he heard Primrose sing, but he didn’t think he could ever rouse another person with his own voice.  
  
    A voice like that was what probably lured his parents into opera, thus doing the same to him.  
  
    He downed his glass. He planned on having, at least, five more or until he felt better.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

    Prima exited the ladies restroom, feeling refreshed as she stretched with her eyes closing for a second. “I’m sorry it took me such a while, Tonio. I bumped into this former student of Primrose and she had some rather interesting–” and when she opened her eyes, the lobby was empty. “Tonio?”  
  
    She frowned. Where on earth did he run off to? The restroom? Her eyes drifted to the wall of photographs, feeling oddly wary for some reason.  
  
    "What’s wrong?“  
  
    Prima turned around and saw a lady in her late twenties with tanned skin and a French braid staring at her with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, it’s you again, Miss…Emily?” she tried recalling her name.  
  
    Miss Emily was apparently a teacher and former student of the late Primrose Bianchi. This was the woman she ran into whilst she used the toilet. Emily had told her about the unfortunate death of Primrose days after her class was to have their very first concert in the middle of March.  
  
    The woman nodded. “You’ve got it right. Were you looking for someone?”  
  
    "Yes, my dear friend Tonio. He was out here a moment ago, but it seems he wandered off…“  
  
    Suddenly, the sound of shuffling could be hearing just above their heads.  
  
    "He must be visiting Box 5,” Emily spoke up, then she added in for further explanation, “the box viewings stretch back along with the entrances, so if it’s quiet enough, people can hear the attendees in the boxes.”  
  
    "Oh, and…how do you know it’s Box 5?“  
  
    "I know the locations of everything inside and out,” was the only reason Emily gave.  
  
    "I see…“ she murmured. "I’d better go see.”  
  
    "You know how to get to Box 5?“  
    "Well, yes, I do. You can say that I know this place well, too.”  
  
    There were two ways how to get to the box seating. One way was to enter the performance hall, go to the back of the room and go up the flight of stairs. The second way to enter involved going up the stairs in the lobby and enter the door to the right then go through one of the numbered doors.  
  
    Prima, of course, knew these because of her dream showing it to her.  
  
    Or rather because of who she was at one time.  
  
    She decided to take the stairs in the lobby, and as she began making her way to the stairs again, Emily called out, “Be careful in the box, Miss Prima. It’s dangerous up there.”  
  
    Jokingly with a small smile, the English Vocaloid asked, “Really…? Is Teatro Tammaro cursed with a phantom in one of the boxes that I should know about, Miss Emily?”  
  
    She smiled weakly. “I wish. It’s only because getting too close to the edge has been proven to be ill-advised; in fact, that’s why the bars on the railing have been removed. People used to press too much weight on them, also the bar railings were slippery…”  
  
    Something struck a nerve in Prima’s head, hitting directly where her memories were stored – including the one she recently recovered – and replayed if needed.  
  
    "Actually…“ Prima said, "I think I’m going to check the hall to see if I find him there first. Could you answer me something though?”  
  
    "Sure.“ Emily nodded. "Please, go right ahead.”  
  
    "You said you were a student of Primrose Bianchi, yes?“  
    "Yes, I was.”  
  
    "Do you happen to remember a classmate named Bellomi? Antonello Bellomi?“

 

* * *

 

 

_He may not remember me, but I remember him._

 

* * *

 

 

    For the tenth time that day, Antonello listened to the operatic song on his mp3 player as he gulped the rest of his martini to loosen his nerves. He wasn’t well, but within an hour and a half, the class was going to start their concert in front of their friends, family, and even a few other people who were in the music arts. Primrose even boasted there were a handful arriving from Spain, England, and the States for whatever reason.  
  
    This was a horrible idea.  
  
    He wasn’t feeling confident about tonight. He had been practicing at home with the song and had the urge to show Primrose how he was, but he wasn’t sure what she would think. He wasn’t sure about himself anymore.  
  
    Antonello made himself one more drink, thankful that no one came into the kitchen to see what he was making. He kept his wobbly hands steady as much as he possibly could while he watched himself mix and shake the usual items.  
  
    He didn’t want to tell Primrose or his parents, but other family members had been talking about him behind his back and questioning his place in opera. The complaints ranged from Antonello being too pretty or too young to his voice not being pleasing.  
  
    "Why sing a dead genre?” he heard one ask.  
  
    "Why music? He’s wasting his time when he could be attending a university with an actual benefit.“  
  
    "Well, he’s been average at school. He probably wouldn’t be able to last in a university.”  
  
    Antonello left the kitchen with his final drink for the night. He needed to be alone until it was time to sing, and he knew a good spot. When he walked, he struggled to keep a straight line and his eyes ahead. A few of his classmates were hanging out in the lobby at the time while two or three of them noticed the unstable movement of Antonello; others noticed his eyes were surrounded by red.

 

* * *

 

 

    The theatre boxes, the best way to get away from everything until people began to arrive for this evening. Antonello chose one of the boxes in the middle, giving the teen a perfect view of the stage and the first eight rows of seats. There was yet to be any attendees in the seats so far, but that would soon change by half an hour. For now, the only noise to be heard was through the ear buds which Antonello wore.  
  
    He took a seat and started the song on his mp3 player one more time.  
  
    His eyes went half-lid as he sipped his martini, his eyes fixating to the stage again.  
  
    Antonello didn’t know what to do.  
  
    He liked opera, he adored Primrose as a teacher and friend, he enjoyed all of this, but he didn’t think he’ll be able to grab that sense of perfection like Primrose or any other opera singer who convinced the naysayers of opera that the music was beautiful. And… _merda_ , the stuff his family members said were coming back to him…  
  
    Perfect, absolutely perfect.  
  
    As soon as he finished his drink, Antonello tossed the paper cup to the ground then he ripped the tiny ear buds from his ears and shut off the music on his portable player. He cupped his gloved hands over his eyes, letting out a loud sigh. He was going to be absolutely sick.  
  
    That was when the doors underneath his box, the main doors of the performance hall, creaked open.  
  
    "Antonello?“ a familiar voice echoed out. "Are you in here?”  
  
    The dark-haired teen remained quiet.  
  
    "Miss Bellamy told me you looked sick. Are you feeling alright?“  
  
    Silence.  
  
    "Dear, I know you’re in here. Bellamy said she and the others saw you.”  
  
    "What is it, Miss Primrose?“ he finally answered.  
  
    "Are you okay?” Primrose asked again. She took a few steps forward until she was able to peer up at the box seat Antonello was in.  
  
    "…can I be honest?“  
    "Please…”  
  
    He licked his lips, savouring the bitter remains of the six martinis he had since arriving to the school for the performance. “I don’t think I can perform tonight. I’ll ruin everyone’s expectations.”  
  
    "Expectations?“ She blinked. "Antonello, you’re the best student I have. I _know_ you’ll do every one of us proud!”  
  
    Maybe she’s only saying that because she’s his teacher. There was no way she could be truthful–wait, no. Where was this coming from? Was it because he was drunk? That was when these thoughts would resurface even more.  
  
    Antonello rose from his seat, then he placed his hands over the gold rail bars and looked down at Primrose. His eyes, they tried to focus on the lovely woman in the white gown and her black hair put into a bun, but he kept seeing double of her.  
  
    Primrose frowned. Something didn’t look right about her student. Red eyes, messy hair, crimson cheeks…and his words sounded a little slurred. It dawned on her. “An…Antonello,” she hesitantly asked, “are you drunk?”  
  
    "Do you think it would’ve been better if I had taken drugs for me to calm down?“  
  
    "No, no I wouldn’t,” Primrose immediately said, though in a stern tone. “But why…why did you drink so much?”  
  
    "I already said it was because I needed to calm myself down.“  
    ”…is there something you want to talk about?“  
  
    Ignoring his heart beating against his chest, Antonello confessed his thoughts, "I don’t think I’ll be able to sing as well like you and my parents are hoping for. I keep hearing from my other family members that I’m wasting my life being in a school for taking up opera instead of being in a university like they were,” he added, “but then they complain that I wouldn’t 'make it’ through a university since my grades are average and there’s possibly no other use for me.”  
  
    What a rude family! Primrose _had_ talked to his parents before, and she remembered hearing from the father that they had separated from the rest of the family due to them having “holier than thou” attitudes. Antonello must have had the misfortune of meeting them from time to time somehow…  
  
    But Antonello wasn’t done speaking.  
  
    Leaning forward, he continued, “And my voice, they’ve complained that I sound horrible and…maybe they’re right. The compliments I’ve gotten from my parents could’ve been fake; they’re my parents but feel they need to support their only kid, after all.” He lifted a hand to his chest. “It can’t touch others like your voice or any other opera singer.”  
  
    "But it _has_ touched someone,“ Primrose swiftly assured him, "besides me, I’ve found out the owners of the house heard you whenever our class would practice down here instead of the studio room. They thought you were _beautiful_ , Antonello! And your parents, they’ve thought the same thing and meant it!”  
  
    She tried her damnedest to convince him, telling Antonello, “I’ve spoken to both of your parents many times during the weekend because they’re curious about how you’ve been doing. You should’ve heard the excitement in their voices, dear, they’re so proud of you! I’m proud of you, too! Please don’t be discouraged…!”  
  
    Primrose weakly smiled to him, although she wasn’t sure he could see straight enough to see it.  
  
    "You said you like opera, right?“  
    ”…I do.“  
    "And, do you like me as well?”  
  
    Antonello nodded with his eyes almost closed.  
  
    "This might sound like a weird thing to say, but…you could think of me while you’re performing tonight. You’ll make me _so_ proud…“  
    ”…“  
  
    "And…I–I know you’ve never had much confidence, but I hope I’ve changed your mind. If opera is something you like or love, then maybe…you could give this a chance. I promise that I’ll be here for you.”  
  
    He gulped to push down something vile that want to spill out from his stomach. Antonello gently smiled back, replying, “Alright. I’ll do it.”  
  
    Primrose scrunched her eyes at how Antonello was standing. He was hunched over and he looked sicker by the moment. This wasn’t good. “I’m glad, so glad! How about I help you get cleaned up and then give you some black coffee to get you sober?” she offered.  
  
    Suddenly, something from above flew down and crashed three feet away from Primrose who immediately froze on sight.  
  
    Primrose let out a puff of breath as her soft eyes began to widen upon realisation, and soon her breathing grew louder by the second.  
  
    The scream Primrose released was the most horrifying sound that every living occupant in Teatro Tammaro on March 20 of 2001 would hear, but Primrose had every reason to scream in such a manner.  
  
    Antonello’s body remain motionless as Primrose screamed at the sight before her. She had fallen to her knees and her hands had the urge to go to her face but remained a little outwards and the fingers half-bent as though she was closing her fists. She couldn’t believe it, she just couldn’t believe what had happened.  
  
    The students rushed into the performance hall, along with a few workers of the theatre. Some were frightened by the sight of the dead body, one fainted, and others made mad dashes to call an ambulance to try and see if there was a chance that Antonello could be revived somehow.  
  
    Primrose’s voice died out eventually and her eyes blinked rapidly at the tears forming in them. She moved herself closer to the body, reaching out a hand to touch it. She would find out that Antonello’s body grew cold and there was no pulse to be found.  
  
    Antonello Bellomi had died.  
  
    It was obvious that he had, but not for the reason that everyone thought at first. The real cause of his death made the hearts of Antonello’s parents – and Primrose’s – drop significantly. Antonello had died from alcohol poisoning before his lifeless body keeled over the railing and it the floor below. Antonello must have had plenty to drink, more than a “mere” seven glasses.

 

* * *

 

 

    One day and a funeral later, Primrose arrived early to the opera house once again.  
  
    Primrose placed down the small CD player on the stage and pressed “play”, filling the hall with a famous cover of “Una furtiva lagrima”. She adjusted the jacket she refused to take off before stepping off stage and taking a seat in the front row of the audience.  
  
    She smiled sadly as tears began to drip from her green eyes. “I never got to hear you sing this,” was all she said, and then she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand while she choked on a sob.  
  
    Things changed after Antonello’s death: One, alcoholic drinks of any kind were banned for the next five years; Two, the smooth railings on the box seating were removed and replaced with a better secure; Three, Antonello’s death may have been the reason why Primrose Bianchi died a week later at her home in the late night hour. Her teaching position was taken by a substitute thereon.  
  
    How Primrose Bianchi pass on was unknown even after thirteen years. Teatro Tammaro would forever acknowledge Bianchi as the kindest person the house was blessed to have and the most wonderful singer they had the business of having.

 

* * *

 

 

**Vocaloid2 Prima and Tonio**

 

* * *

 

 

    Prima slowly approached the door which led into Box 5. She and Emily had parted ways after they went downstage while searching for Tonio and once Emily told her about Antonello’s death, along with her’s– or rather– Primrose’s. She had a gut feeling Tonio was in there now.  
  
    She turned the knob and opened it.  
  
    "Tonio?“  
  
    There he was. He was sitting in one of the seats with his back towards Prima, unmoved even when she called his name. Could he have known what happened here?  
  
    No, probably not. Tonio didn’t say anything that he remembered of this place yet, though. What would happen if he remembered _this_ of all places? Well, there was one way to find out.  
  
    She heard her feet touch the carpet as she came into view on Tonio’s right side. "Tonio?” she repeated, placing a hand on his shoulder. That was when she noticed he had a hand over his eyes with the arm propped on the chair’s arm. A frown was visible on his feature. “Dear…?”  
  
    In a tone where his voice below a hushed tone, Tonio simply asked without moving his hand from his eyes, “Can we leave now?”  
  
   _He remembered._

 

* * *

 

 

...

 

* * *

 

 

    "I’m guessing you would like to head home tomorrow, right?“ Prima asked as she and Tonio had dinner together in their hotel room, sitting beside each other on the bed rather than using the tiny table.  
  
    "It doesn’t matter to me at the moment,” he replied, then took a sip of his water. He didn’t feel like touching alcohol for a day or two after what he now remembered about himself.  
  
    "Then…perhaps we could stay here for another day?“  
    "Three days. I’m not ready to go home at all.”  
  
    Prima frowned. Tonio hasn’t looked at her ever since she found him in Box 5 at Tammaro, but she couldn’t blame him. If she had known they had both died, she probably would have never dragged the younger singer out here to begin with.  
  
    "I’m sorry…“  
  
    Tonio finally turned to Prima. "What for?”  
  
    "For…you finding out about who you were prior to being a Vocaloid,“ she explained. "I should’ve kept it to myself if I had known you were going through some things which are similar to what you deal with now…”  
  
    "It’s alright,“ he assured her. "You wished to know about who you were at one point and I waved it off as you taking a dream far too seriously. If anything, I should apologise for my skepticism.”  
  
    "You had a right to question my thoughts at the time. I’m sure a lot of people would’ve done the same.“  
  
    "Perhaps.”  
    "I wonder though…“  
    "What?”  
  
    Prima questioned out loud, “Did Zero-G or any of Vocaloid company find us through the theatre somehow? And how on earth did they do it if we had died? Could it be that we’re recreated _from_ them, or were they able to pull a movie stunt and save our brain and heart?”  
  
    "Prima…“ he narrowed his eyes at the soprano, saying, "I’m okay with you thinking about Primrose and Antonello, but it’s probably best that we don’t wonder too much about the aftermath.”  
  
    A smile crossed her face. “I guess you’re right, dear.” She paused. “But, you know, you really haven’t looked well since I found you in the box seating…I’m worried that this affected you deeply. Did it?”  
  
    His eyes softened – well, that was what Prima swore she saw upon hearing the question – and darted from her to the television as a commercial played. Truth be told, Tonio didn’t know how he felt about Antonello nor his behaviour which carried on from the last months of Antonello’s life to present day as a Vocaloid. The thing he did _most_ nowadays – drinking martinis – was the reason why he died in the end, also.  
  
    He didn’t remember who he was and what happened until he took a second glance at the picture of Antonello while Prima was in the restroom. At first, he felt light-headed so he chose to wander off wherever his feet took him…which happened to be Box 5; the place where he – as Antonello Bellomi – died of alcohol poisoning. His final moment played in his head, he felt the sickening emotions running through him – all of those things joined together as soon as he entered the box.  
  
    The scene played in his mind, from his final words to Primrose until he slipped into a state of unconsciousness where he then passed on. This wasn’t a joke, nor a dream which Prima took hilariously seriously.  
  
    He and Prima had a life together before being Vocaloids, plain and simple even though the impact left upon the younger opera singer was there in his thoughts. He had a few questions of his own, but after telling Prima she shouldn’t wonder about further details…he had to do the same.  
  
    "No,“ was all Tonio said plainly as a reply, then he sipped his water again.  
  
    Prima frowned. Her eyes watched Tonio resume eating his cacciatore. Although he claimed to have been alright, she could tell he didn’t enjoy discovering the truth. Perhaps it revived negative feelings of either himself or as Antonello. Another reason could be that this was "too much” for Tonio to handle.  
  
    The movie on the television returned whilst she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to herself.  
  
    "Don’t worry,“ she said, "we don’t need to tell anyone else about it if that’s how you want to deal with it, dear.”  
  
    Ignoring the blush of being touched, Tonio stared away from Prima and his food. He didn’t want to admit he felt a little better since he had somebody with him, considering he would feel even worse if he had been alone.  
  
    The days passed without either Vocaloids bringing up Primrose Bianchi and Antonello Bellomi, but Prima wrote down about the experience within a pink metallic coloured diary she bought before she and Tonio departed from Italy. Prima felt oddly refreshed for some reason, possibly a sense of relief upon getting to know Primrose and the fact that her dream was more than that.  
  
    In a way, Primrose and Antonello never really faded after they had died but were instead given a second chance of life as Vocaloids. _How_ that was possible was another story.

 

* * *

 

 

**end.**


End file.
